Breathe
by thinkture
Summary: ON HOLD. Just a little drabble about Shelagh/Julienne, somewhat reimagined.
1. Chapter 1

She remembers the routine of waking up at 6 every morning, making their beds, and filing into the great dining hall for breakfast. Then lessons, 30 minutes of play in the morning, lunch time, and then chores in the afternoon after lessons were done at 2pm.

Being so little and often sickly, she couldn't join the games without tiring herself out and getting an asthma attack. Often, just a few jumps of hopscotch had her gasping for breath.

Too many instances of those finally excluded her from the cluster of fellow mates who played the game. This left her to a lonely corner of the garden, where she made an old stone bench her own.

An outsider.

She still felt like an outsider even after, what, two or three years here.

~.~.~

She vaguely remembered being brought here by a woman dressed all in black. The woman had picked her up from her Nana's house that morning, that day after her beloved grandmother's funeral.

The woman next door packed her suitcase, helped her dress and told her to "be good as [she] was going to a place full of boys and girls to play with."

The next thing she knew, she was in a motorcar, and Nana's house was long gone. And so was Nana.

She had no one left. She was six.

The woman in black left her to the care of a woman whose head was covered with a veil, and dressed in blue.

She knelt down, took her hand, looked at her in the eye and said something in the kindest voice that reminded her of her Nana.

"I am Sister Julienne. This is your home now, Shelagh."

~.~.~

Each year or so, the children at the orphanage managed to enjoy a few treats, thanks to some kind-hearted donors. Sometimes, it was the gift of secondhand toys - bicycles, tricycles, dollies, lorries and cars, bears, and books. Once, there was even a trip to the seaside.

It was the first time she had seen the sea. She was eight.

Or perhaps not. In the dim recesses of her memories, she recalled a deep voice (_Was it my Da?_) pointing out the waves, the starfish, the stones as they walked on the beach, hand in hand. Her hand was quite tiny wrapped in his big palm. They were both barefoot.

She remembered squealing when the waves lapped at her legs.

"Da! It's cold! Eeeeee!"

His laughter. Her laughter. His voice. His arms.

_Where was her Da now?_

~.~.~

This year, it was a trip to an orchard and farm, somewhere down South. The sisters had promised they could pick berries, see sheep and cows, and have a picnic!

She couldn't sleep for days after the trip was announced, along with the strict reminder that chores were to be done on time and well, otherwise, the chance to join the excitement would be forfeited.

She had never seen sheep or cows, only in the dingy, stained pages of the old books in the schoolroom. The sheep looked soft. Maybe they would give the children one as a pet to take home.

~.~.~  
The day of the trip, a light drizzle had dampened the ground, giving a sheen to the surroundings. Outside, the big bus that was to take them was already waiting at the gates.

The children, nearly 30 of them, were hysterical with excitement, and the nuns had a hard time herding them. But finally, they were well on their way to the farm.

Oh, there were meadows, full of soft, sweet-smelling grass. And plump strawberries waiting to be plucked by sticky little fingers and put into baskets.

The farmer who owned the land allowed them to have a picnic on the grounds, and gave them some fresh milk, bread and cheese to go with what food they had brought.

It was the best Shelagh had tasted in a long, long time. The milk tasted sweeter, the bread and cheese weren't moldy either.

Right after lunch, the children were allowed to play. And Shelagh joined the other children running hither and tither, and rolling down the grassy slopes, to the chagrin and enjoyment of the nuns.

Maybe it was because of the food, or was it the air? Maybe she ran too much and ate too much too soon?

She felt the telltale prickling feeling in her chest and throat. Soon, she heard the wheezing coming out of her mouth, how difficult suddenly it was to breath.

She dropped to her knees, gasping, her mouth open.

~.~.~

She felt someone rubbing her back, propping her a little more upright.

She was still clutching the grass in her hands tightly.

"It's alright, Shelagh. Breathe more slowly," a calm voice instructed her.

_Breathe. Breathe. Breathe._

"Yes, that's it. Slowly now. One… two… Breathe."

She was being held by someone, and a hand was rubbing her back in slow, gentle circles.

"There, there. Are you feeling a bit better?"

_Breathe_.

She felt herself being lifted a little off the ground, and her head placed in someone's lap.

"Is this better? I know you feel better when you're on your side."

She finally deigned to look up at the speaker.

It was Sister Julienne.

Shelagh could only squint, as the sun was bright behind the nun.

Julienne smoothed the child's hair off her forehead._ So frail, so pale. Poor thing._

"It's only me, Shelagh. Don't worry," she said kindly, as she continued to gently rub the little girl's back.

"Sleep. I'm not going to leave you."


	2. Chapter 2

The nuns were not supposed to have favorites but it was inevitable.

Sister Julienne remembered the day little Shelagh was admitted to the orphanage and how she and Sister Monica Joan took turns often during the night for nearly a month to calm the crying child.

Her constant weeping aggravated her asthma, leaving her unable to breathe and nearly blue in the face sometimes. There was simply no way she could have been left alone.

After that trip to the farm, they had gone back home to the orphanage with Shelagh sitting on the nun's lap. She didn't have the heart to let go of the sleeping little girl then.

A few days after that, as they were coming out of the chapel after noon prayers, the girl was waiting for her along the hallway.

Kneeling down, she smiled and said kindly, "Hello, Shelagh. How are you feeling?"

Clear blue eyes stared back at her, framed with honey blond hair.

Wordlessly, a small bunch of daisies was held out to her.

She was pleasantly surprised.

"Are these for me?" she gently spoke to the girl, while keeping the small hand clasped within hers.

All she got was a small nod, while those blue eyes continued to pierce her own.

_Such beautiful eyes_, Julienne thought. _Such a child_.

"Thank you, Shelagh, for the lovely flowers. Thank you for thinking of me," she said with a smile.

The little girl suddenly stood up and ran, but abruptly stopped and looked back at her.

She simply stood there, waiting.

"Tomorrow?" the small voice asked, so clear, while the face betrayed no emotion.

"I'll still be here tomorrow, Shelagh. Don't worry," she assured her.

The small scraggly bouquet was still clutched in her hand as she watched the child go.


End file.
